


when you go i'll fall apart

by maqcy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BDSM, Beating, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Body Dysphoria, Bottom Steve Rogers, Broken Bones, Captain America - Freeform, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dysphoria, Eventual Fluff, Hurt Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Referenced - Freeform, Rough Sex, Safeword Use, School Shootings, Self-Destruction, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Smut, Sort Of, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels, Sub Steve Rogers, Therapy, Topping from the Bottom, Violence, Whump, dom safeword, except bad, my political views are casually dumped in there, oh captain my captain, red yellow green safewords, safeword usage, this isn't healthy guys, whoopsie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy/pseuds/maqcy
Summary: Steve isn't coping. His body doesn't fit right, he can't stop people from dying and he's so tired. Bucky steps in.





	when you go i'll fall apart

**Author's Note:**

> This is an angsty/smutty one-shot that I wrote last night. It's...heavy, so please read the tags and watch yourselves. Title is from Broken Hearts/Bones by Parlour Tricks.

Steve came home itching with frustration, thrumming with the kind of pent up energy that he’d learnt could only be scratched by several hours at the gym, or Bucky. He felt too overloaded tonight, too close to either tears or violence, and he dropped his things unceremoniously on the couch, stripped off his shirt and shoes and headed down to the basement gym. Bucky wasn’t home yet and, regardless, Steve didn’t want to see Bucky when he was like this, when he felt like he was rattling around inside a too big, too powerful body, a body that wasn’t really _his_.

Bucky knew that he got like this sometimes. Usually he gave Steve enough space to pull himself back together before Steve would crawl into Bucky’s lap and Bucky would hold him tightly; a silent promise to never leave him alone again.

Steve didn’t bother with the gloves tonight as he hammered at the punching bag. He wanted to feel the hard sting of it, and his healing dealt with the microfractures in his knuckles, and the occasional break of a small bone in his hand. His broken skin left bloody smears on the bags but the rhythmic patter of the hits against the hard fabric was steadying. It still wasn’t really enough. Today had been…hard. There had been another school shooting and he’d arrived too late. He’d saved two or three young, terrified faces by tackling the shooter, but he’d failed to be there for twelve students and two teachers and he’d stood, sick and exhausted, amongst their bodies. Their blood had stuck tackily to his shoes and he’d felt it clinging to him long after he’d changed his shoes. Leaders weren’t listening, kids were being killed, and Steve just wanted to break something, to not be able to feel anything anymore.

He hit the bag harder, sharp cracks of bone breaking in his hands making him bite back a cry and pause for a moment, cradling his hands as they healed. As soon as they’d knitted again, he set back to thumping the bag, throwing in kicks hard enough that it sent a welcome ache all the way up to his hip and the bag creaked in protest. Tony had set this one up so that it would be strong enough to take Steve’s anger and wouldn’t spilt or the chain break, and at times like this he was glad for it.

As he twisted around and threw his fist out hard enough to buckle metal, he thought that, ridiculously, he missed the uselessly fragile body he’d been born with. The asthma, the allergies, his small stature; he’d hated it. He’d fought against his own body until it gave out on him, several times. But it had been _his_ , not a government weapon. And he’d give- well, not _anything_ , but a lot, to get sick enough that he’d be granted a week’s reprieve to lie in bed with a bowl of soup. To have a _reason_ to take a break.

Steve gritted his teeth in frustration and lashed out hard enough that he split the skin of his forearm. God, he hated himself. Never in his life had he shirked doing the right thing, the honourable thing. But that was before it was his _life_. Technically he had an allotted amount of time off that was his if he wanted it, but how could he take it when there were kids dying? How could his time off be worth more than someone else’s life? It wasn’t. So his free time was regulated to just enough time to sleep, eat and wash, and precious nights spent under Bucky. He lived to be within Bucky’s arms. There, he was just scrappy Steve Rogers and his only goal was please Bucky. He wasn’t Captain America, because Captain America didn’t kneel on wooden floorboards to swallow another man’s cock. The outside world wasn’t important when he was there, it was just him and Bucky Barnes, crowding him, kissing him, keeping him present, keeping him sane.

Steve kept hitting the bag, breaking bones in his hand. There was blood on the bag, on his hands, on the floor and he was sweating, shaking. His hits slowed and then stopped and, his shoulders slumped low, he leaned forwards to rest his damp forehead on the heavy bag. _Fuck_.

“Stevie?”

Steve tensed and came upright. Dammit, Bucky shouldn’t see him like this, he’d only worry. He rubbed his aching hands quickly on his black work trousers before he stepped around the bag and summoned a tight smile.

“Hey Buck,” he said, but he saw immediately in Bucky’s face that he wasn’t fooling Bucky at all.

“What happened?” Bucky said quietly. He set his work bag down on the floor and came over. Steve rubbed his forehead tiredly and dragged a sore hand through his rumpled hair. But Bucky put his metal hand out and caught Steve’s wrist, cradling Steve’s bloody hand in his cold, silver palm. “Jesus, Steve,” he said softly. “You should have called me, sweetheart.”

Steve sighed heavily and when Bucky put an arm around his back he offered only token resistance before he was resting his head on Bucky’s strong shoulder, pressing his nose to Bucky’s neck, his hair.

“They fucking died, Buck,” Steve breathed. “Kids. I can’t stop them dying, and god help me, I’m just so tired. I’m so tired and it hurts.”

“Your hands hurt?” Bucky said gently. He was holding Steve tightly, just as he had held Steve when he’d been just a slip of thing. Now Steve felt too tall, too clumsy, but Bucky’s arms felt the same; tight and certain.

“They’ll mend,” Steve said bitterly. “This body isn’t mine.” He was still wrapped up in Bucky’s hold but he looked at his hand over Bucky’s shoulder, hating his own flesh. “It’s fucking government property.”

Bucky tensed briefly and then drew away, his metal hand gripping Steve’s shoulder, the other reaching up to tenderly push Steve’s too-long blond hair from his face.

“You’re still you, Stevie. You’re not Captain America here, you’re just the kid from Brooklyn.” He took Steve’s hand, looking at the blood and the slight swelling from where Steve’s body couldn’t keep up with the damage. It would be gone soon. “You want a distraction?” Bucky said.

Sometimes Bucky was as gentle with Steve as he used to be with the dames he went dancing with, but sometimes he was rough and he fucked Steve into the bed hard enough to break the bed slats, and then he fucked him on the floor. Steve wanted that Bucky tonight.

“Yes,” he said. “Stop me thinking, Buck, just for a while.”

Bucky’s eyes went dark and Steve shivered. Bucky smiled but there wasn’t any humour in it. “Go to the bedroom, Steve,” he said and Steve went, because when Bucky was like this, Steve damn well did as he was told.

Steve went up to sit on the bed, stripping efficiently out of his sweat-damp trousers, the ones he’d changed into when his uniform had gotten bloodied and been sent off to be cleaned. Or maybe they just sent a new one each time, Steve didn’t know.

Bucky didn’t make him wait, and Steve was relieved. The urge to hit the headboard of the bed had been getting stronger, making his arm twitch.

“Lie down on your front,” Bucky ordered flatly. Steve obeyed him, his damp, heated skin drying quickly in the cool air and he shivered. He could hear the floorboards creaking as Bucky moved quietly about, and the brush of fabric as Bucky undressed. Steve’s cock was beginning to full underneath him and he resisted the urge to roll his hips into the mattress. There was still a part of him that was ashamed that he reacted like this, and to Bucky. This wasn’t how good Catholic boys acted, but one of the upsides of the 21st century was that there was more acceptance of love of any kind. Besides, Steve didn’t think he could get through his days if he didn’t have Bucky’s love at night. He was just steadily trying to stop hating himself for it. There were already too many other things he loathed himself for and he didn’t want his and Bucky’s love to be one of them.

A warm hand on the small of his back made him tense and he released a soft breath when Bucky dug his short nails into Steve’s skin. It hardly hurt but it focused Steve’s attention, keeping him there, in their apartment, rather than drifting through his memories or falling into the dark spiral of his own thoughts.

“You want this, sweetheart?” Bucky said, steady and dark. His hand slid down Steve’s damp skin over his tail bone and then a finger trailed down the crease of Steve’s ass.

Steve groaned, pressing upwards just slightly, “Yes,” he said. “Please, Buck. God, make it hurt, Buck, _please_.” Bucky’s hand stilled briefly, before there was the tell-tale noise of a lube bottle being uncapped. “Why do you bother with that?” Steve said, his voice half-muffled by the mattress. “I’ll heal.”

A hard slap on the ass made Steve cry out, mostly from surprise.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky said flatly. “You’re not in control here. If I want to fill you with so much lube,” he pushed a slick, cold finger up Steve’s ass in emphasis and Steve hissed, “that you’re fucking dripping with it, then I’ll do that.” He continued to push lube into Steve, fingering him open whilst administering a litany of sharp pinches to Steve’s skin. There was precious little softness on Steve’s soldier-hardened body, but Bucky found the soft points, like the inside of Steve’s thigh, and he seized the skin between his metal fingers and _twisted_.

Steve made soft, pained noises and squirmed on the mattress as Bucky kept opening him up. Bucky delivered several hard hits to Steve’s back, his spine and ribs meeting with Bucky’s sharp knuckles. Bucky never hit Steve with all of his strength, but there was still a power behind his hits that no normal human could match and Steve arched up into the pain. But Bucky settled back into pushing his fingers in and out of Steve’s ass and Steve hissed, reaching around to grab Bucky’s hand.

“ _Quit it!_ ” he snapped. “I want it to hurt Buck, okay?”

A muscle twitched at Bucky’s jaw and his metal hand shot out to grab a harsh handful of Steve’s hair. Steve growled as his head was pulled painfully backwards.

“Did you not listen to me?” Bucky said quietly, his voice rough. Steve felt Bucky shift on the bed behind him but he couldn’t see him, not with how Buck’s hand was clenched in his hair, forcing his back to arch sharply. Then Bucky’s weight was on his thighs and Steve inhaled with a choked gasp when Bucky’s flesh hand came down harshly on Steve’s ass, the _slap_ resounding around the room. Bucky’s fingers clenched around Steve’s hip hard enough to leave deep bruises for a few minutes, the ache working pleasantly into Steve’s flesh and leaving him momentarily floating.

“This body isn’t government property, Stevie,” Bucky said. “This body’s mine, tonight. And you’ll fucking take what I give you, you understand?” Steve tried to nod but Bucky was holding his hair too tightly. But Bucky must have felt the movement because he released Steve’s head, a rough, cold hand on Steve’s neck pushing his face into the mattress. “Try to keep quiet, Steve. You don’t want to wake the neighbours.”

Then Bucky brought his hand down on Steve’s ass again and Steve cried out into the mattress. Bucky hit him again, and again, and again, unless Steve’s ass felt like it had been branded, the throb spreading all the way up his back and down his thighs. His whole pelvis felt bruised and he was quietly crying by the time Bucky stopped, his breathing heavy with the force with which he’d been hitting Steve.

“Colour?” Bucky said evenly, though his voice was a little strained.

“Green,” Steve mumbled into the mattress. Then there were three fingers bullying their way back into his ass and he keened, arching up and away, his ass aching something awful. It’d heal, it always healed, but for now it throbbed and Steve groaned at the pain/pleasure mix that was making his cock leak.

“Look at you,” Bucky said softly, though his tone was cold. “Such a fucking slut.” Steve mewled and Bucky slapped his ass once more, cruelly and Steve’s breathing hitched on a sob.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed. He’d taken so much worse, but it was still pain, it still _hurt_.

Bucky’s weight shifted off his half-numb thighs and then Bucky’s cock was nudging at Steve’s hole and Steve pressed back into it. He didn’t want to think and he felt only relief at the slight sting of Bucky driving into him. He wished it hurt more, that the slide of Bucky’s cock wasn’t so slick. Bucky’s back pressed down on Steve’s chest as he lay over Steve, weighing him down like an anchor, his elbows framing Steve’s head and his breath hot and thick on Steve’s neck.

“Please, Buck, please,” Steve panted. His ass was already half-healed and he just wanted to not think for a while. Bucky’s teeth clamped around Steve’s shoulder and he bit down hard enough to draw blood, the bruising radiating down through Steve’s skin. “God, yes, Buck,” Steve groaned, pressing his ass up into Bucky’s cock as Bucky shoved his hips up into Steve’s ass.

“You ready, slut?” Bucky said quietly.

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Steve begged.

Buck moaned softly as he withdrew his cock from Steve’s ass. There was a pause, heavy with their shared breathing before Bucky pulled himself up off Steve’s back, his hands pressing deep indents into the mattress either side of Steve’s shoulders. Then Bucky fucked his hips forwards with a brutal thrust and Steve cried out sharply, reaching up to grab the headboard, bracing against Bucky’s force. Steve cried out quietly with each thrust.

“Shut. Up,” Bucky growled as he kept driving into Steve’s ass, his hips bruising where they slammed into Steve’s ass and the bed protesting under them. Bucky kept fucking him, kept shoving his cock in too hard, too deep, too fast, but it wasn’t- it just wasn’t quite enough to stop Steve from being able to think. About the blood, about how he felt too big under Bucky’s rough hands, about how he was supposed to save lives but he felt like he was drowning under the pressure.

“More,” Steve pleaded, clenching his hands around the sweat-dampened wood of the headboard. “More, Buck.”

A harsh hand in his hair made him choke as his throat was yanked backwards. “More, Steve? You want _more_?” Bucky growled in his hair, the ends of Bucky’s hair brushing over Steve’s heated skin. Steve whined in agreement and Bucky huffed, the hot air ghosting over Steve’s back. Steve’s head was released abruptly and then Bucky was grabbing Steve’s shoulders, pressing his chest down into the mattress to hold him still as he shoved harder into Steve’s ass, his cock dragging harshly past Steve’s prostate, punishingly hard. Steve gritted his teeth and bore it, but it still wasn’t- it still wasn’t hurting enough and Steve felt a flash of anger. Bucky was supposed to be able to empty Steve’s mind, he was supposed to be able to pin him in the present, but it wasn’t fucking working.

“It’s not _enough_ ,” he snapped between getting shoved forwards into the mattress. His cock was still hard under him but he ignored it. “I’ll fucking heal, Buck,” he said. “Just fucking make it _hurt_.”

“You want it hurt?” Bucky said sharply.

“Yes!” Steve growled.

Bucky’s metal hand grabbed Steve’s upper arm and dragged it behind him, his grip hard enough to entirely cut off Steve’s blood flow and Steve cried out.

“That enough, Steve?” Bucky said and he sounded pissed. “Or do you want more?”

“More,” Steve choked out and then Bucky _wrenched_ his arm behind his back, the cold of his metal fingers utterly unforgiving. Steve had a second to think _wait!_ and then there was a godawful _snap_ and Steve wailed.

He was barely aware of Bucky releasing him, or of Bucky’s scrabbling backwards and half-falling off the bed, gasping, “Oh god, oh god, red, red, red.”

“Buck?” Steve wheezed. The blackness that had briefly clouded his vision at the sheer wave of _pain_ , strong enough to cause tears to leak down his face and his chest to feel so crushed that he struggled to drag air in, passed, and Steve dragged himself up to sitting. He cringed at the sight of his arm. It was at an awkward angle and definitely broken and Steve glared at it. He could already feel his healing dragging the tendons and veins and bones back into position and he just sat silently for a few seconds, breathing jerkily while his body did what it was made to do.

The pain was immense, but he felt…better. Finally like his head was clear. But he could hear Bucky’s breathing and it wasn’t near him, nor was it anywhere near normal. Steve pulled himself up to standing just as his healing pulled the bones in his arm back into alignment and he had to sit down again, clenching his jaw through the pain. But at least his arm looked like a normal shape again.

He moved carefully over to Bucky, finding crouched in a corner, his breathing rapid and shallow.

“Buck?” he said softly.

“Red,” Bucky said brokenly and Steve’s face crumpled. _Fuck_. Bucky had never safe worded before.

“I know, Buck,” he said, his voice cracking as he inched closer. “We’ve stopped, okay? Can you tell me where you are, love?”

Usually Steve did this when Bucky was going through one of his PTSD episodes, not because Steve had goaded him into fucking breaking his lover’s arm. Fucking hell.

“Our- our bedroom,” Bucky breathed roughly.

“Yes,” Steve said gently. He reached up to rub first Bucky’s shoulder and then his cheek. “Can you slow your breathing for me, Buck?” And Bucky’s breathing did slow steadily, but it turned into hitching little sobs.

“Fuck, Stevie,” he gasped, “fuck, are you okay? Did I- I’m so fucking sorry,” he fell into gasping sobs and Steve eased him into his arms. His broken arm was still tender and he knew the bone wasn’t fused yet, but he didn’t care.

“I’m okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Buck. I wanted it, it was my fault. _I’m_ sorry love.”

“I- I broke your arm,” Bucky sobbed. “I fucking- how could I do that? You should be mad at me. God, god,” Steve hushed him.

“I’m not mad,” he promised. “It was my fault.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Bucky said, sounding painfully child-like.

“I know,” Steve said, holding Bucky close. “I’m proud of you for safe wording. It’s really okay, Buck.”

“It’s not okay,” Bucky said flatly, sagging against Steve.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” Steve tried. “It’s your metal arm-”

Bucky pushed weakly at Steve, “You shouldn’t be making excuses for me,” he said, sounding drained. Guilt pooled in Steve’s belly and he wished his own fucked up feelings hadn’t hurt Bucky. “If you didn’t have the serum, you’d be in the hospital. I would be arrested.”

Steve closed his eyes. “Buck,” he said, “I’m not _normal_ , okay, neither of us are. If I hadn’t have had the serum, we wouldn’t be here. Don’t go making situations that don’t and would never had existed. Please, love, just let this go. It was my fault for pushing you.”

Bucky was silent for a long moment, “I should have stopped it sooner,” he said finally and Steve released a heavy breath.

“Yes,” he said. “You should have, ‘cus I was pushing you too hard. I don’t want you to do stuff you don’t want to. I’m really fucking sorry for pushing you there.” Bucky kissed his shoulder.

“I love you, Stevie,” he breathed. “I’ll never do that again, I fucking swear.”

Steve released a heavy breath, “I know, love.” Bucky didn’t like to hurt him as much as Steve liked to be hurt. Steve’s pain tolerance was too high and Bucky’s tolerance for Steve’s suffering too low.

“Steve?” Bucky said.

“Yes?”

“We need to find something else,” he said. Steve frowned, his gut squirming uncertainly. “Something else that works.” Bucky drew away from him, looking at Steve’s face. There was a faint frown between his brows, but he was no longer panicking. He looked like he was thinking. “You look better,” he said. “Calmer,” he blinked. “But I can’t- I can’t fucking _break_ _your arm_ Steve. I-” he broke off, gripping Steve’s wrist as if trying to hold onto him, “I can’t be a weapon you use against yourself.”

Steve swallowed. Dammit. Bucky’s assessment rang painfully true. “Okay,” he said quietly, nervously.

“You’re killing yourself with this work,” Bucky said. “You can’t let it get to this point. You’re willing to let me do _this_ to you…but you gotta let me help before it gets this bad.”

Steve was silent, “What do you mean?” he said quietly. He was tired and sore and he just wanted to collapse into sleep in Bucky’s arms. But Bucky needed him right now, and so Steve would listen.

“Your friend Sam?” Bucky said. “The asshole birdman?”

Steve snorted weakly, “Yes?” he said.

“You said he talked to you about therapy and stuff. Do you think…you’d be willing to try that? Natasha was talking to me about the PTSD things and what the SHEILD people have told me, and she said she’s talked to someone about her stuff, and so’s Clint. She said it helps.”

There was a heavy silence in the air. “I don’t know,” Steve said finally. “It’s dumb. I’m not crazy, I just-”

“I know you’re not crazy, sweetheart. But we’ve been through some stuff. It’s normal these days. People go to talk about going through a divorce, or being in an accident, or whatever. I think you need some time off,” he stopped Steve interrupting with a gentle finger to his lips. “I know you hate it, but you’re not gonna be good to help anyone if you don’t look after yourself, and that’s more than just eating apples and getting eight hours a night.”

Steve heaved a sigh, but he looked at Bucky’s tired, worried face and he couldn’t make himself say ‘no’. Bucky had been through too much for Steve to be even close to willing to put him through anything else, even if Steve wasn’t anywhere near convinced that just talking about some stuff could help the way the pain did.

“Okay, love,” he said, putting his forehead gently against Bucky’s. “I’ll talk to Sam, I’ll try it.”

“Thanks,” Bucky breathed, holding him tighter. “Bed?”

Steve nodded and Bucky looped an arm around his waist as they both staggered to their feet and fell into bed.

“Stevie?” Bucky said as Steve turned the light off and pulled the covers over both of them. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve, tucking him close.

“Yeah?” Steve said drowsily.

“Love you,” Bucky whispered. Steve smiled and slipped into sleep. They’d get through this, just like they always did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think below :)


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